Before I Fall
by Lotte Brandt
Summary: She was living as a porcelain doll: perfect on the outside, but so imperfect and so fragile on the inside. Castiel/OC.


The fluorescent lighting and white sheets are a disgusting reminder that she hates hospitals, almost as much as she hates the preaching shows she's forced to watch that come on TV every Sunday. It's like adding salt to the proverbial wounds of a breaking, but still beating heart.

She cranes her head back, uncomfortable pillows scratching against her bushy bed-head. Her head sags to the side, lackluster gaze finding a smear of something against the tile floor; the blue is a stark contrast to the white, and she finds it the only interesting thing to focus on. Her finger twitches as she draws the appendage closer to her left leg and tries feebly to scratch the itch forming under the cast.

Her lower lip quivers, displeased at the fact that she is unable to soothe the irritating feeling. She's been feeling on edge and angry and upset at every little thing lately, ever since the accident that landed her in this godforsaken hell hole. If she's hungry and without food, she'll bite her lip. If there's nothing on TV and she's feeling something more than numb, she'll feel tears prickle at the edges of her eyes, and so on and so forth with every other thing that would displease a human being.

The irritation quickly causes a chain reaction of emotions from anger that burns so hot she feels her heart will melt a hole through her chest, to a deep disconsolation that has her brain reminding her of just why it is she's in the hospital in the first place- why she refuses to take her depression medicine and why the car didn't stop quickly enough for her to get out of the way. A tear rolls down her cheek at the thought of the car and her self-worth.

And just like the tear symbolizes a calling card, he vaporizes in front of her, his stoic gaze upon her frail frame. For a moment she wonders how he knew that she was in this hospital, but she guesses it was because Dean or Sam probably told him. She doesn't regard him with a smile, like she used to do all the time. It doesn't help that she hasn't seen him in a while, which makes her angry at herself for being so stoic herself, and in turn that causes yet another tear to fall. The tell-tale signs of depression split her face in two.

The man tilts his head in question, gingerly stepping forward and closer to her bed. His fingers glide across the sheets. "Why are you crying?" It isn't like her to cry, because she's usually so bright and funny and cheerful, and frankly he doesn't know how to talk to her when those dreadful tears are rolling down her cheeks.

She wants to feel touched at the concern, but instead she only feels more hurt, and so she shakes her head. "It's nothing, Cas. I'm fine." That's become her trademark saying- no, her trademark lie.

If he were any other person, he'd have raised an eyebrow at the lifeless statement. "You don't look fine," He looks down at her legs, which seem so much more bulky in their casts. He touches the material gently, before withdrawing his fingers and looking straight into her gray irises. "Dean told me..." he hesitates.

A snort of laughter leaves her lips. "What did he tell you, Cas? About the car or me being an emo bitch and crying over every little thing that goes wrong?" She's never laughed quite so sardonically or sounded quite so snarky in all her life before this moment, and in regards to someone she holds such great amount of affection for. Truly, she doesn't warrant his concern.

He hesitates with his next words. "He told me… that you stopped taking your medicine." A spark of electricity shoots through his irises, and maybe a tad bit of some foreign emotion she's not used to seeing the angel succumb to. Their eyes lock. "Is that true?"

Another tear rolls down her cheek before she pushes a smile to her face, but it turns out crooked and looking way too forced to comfort anyone. She won't deny it, she's never been one to deny anything. Her head lulls forward, unruly hair falling out from behind its tucked position behind her ears. "I'm a fucking mess, Cas. I'd never kill myself, but when the car came at me I couldn't bring myself to move. I didn't want to move."

His hand touches her cheek just as another tear rolls down it. The pad of his thumb wipes away the droplet of water gently, but even as he does so he makes no move to remove his hand as soon as the deed is done. It's almost as if he's waiting for more tears to fall, so he can wipe those away too. "Then," His other hand touches her leg, which elicits the tiniest of shivers from her chilled skin. "You meant to end your life?"

There's not denying it. It's obvious.

"I did."

The trench coat wearing angel slides down into the chair by her bed, his comforting touch falling away from her. She suddenly feels a lot more cold than she did before, but looking at Castiel's face, it's like the second Ice Age. The look on his face spells out hurt, even though he holds the same expression as he always has. The glittery eyed female can't even bring herself to apologize for hurting him. She doesn't care about herself, but when it comes to Castiel her feelings turn a three-sixty.

The silence that follows cuts deeper than any blade could possibly hope to cut, in which the woman simply stares at his face as he stares anywhere but at her. However, her emotions have gone haywire again and instead of feeling sad and hurt and wanting to cry, she simply feels rather numb. Numb, but with a slight pang of pain in her heart.

The man refuses to speak, but she can understand why and so she just removes the blankets that curl around her bedridden form and thrusts her legs over the side of the bed, fully knowing she is unable to stand on her own and each time she moves her legs not only do they hurt but her spine hurts as well. She quickly crumples in a heap against the angel who had shot from his seat just as soon as he saw the girl begin to fall, her arms wrapped around his neck in a vice grip.

"I'm sorry." she whispers into his trench coat, like it'll make everything better. They wont though, and in her heart she knows it.

Cas only leans his head against hers and holds her close, because he doesn't know how to admit that he's angry at her for not being able to talk with someone about how alone she was feeling. But more than that, he doesn't know how to admit that he, too, is sorry that he couldn't do anything to help. And so he stays quiet and he holds the girl who is so close to breaking in to millions of tiny pieces right before his eyes. In a very human moment of vulnerability, he finds his arms encircling her waist more closely, body determined to be the mold that'll keep her together. And even if that proves insufficient, he'll pick the parts up one by one and reassemble them on his own.

Again, another moment of silence passes between the two, and again the gray-eyed girl is the one who breaks it. "Cas, do you love me?" Her voice is barely above a whisper and almost inaudible, but still, he hears it as clearly as if she was yelling at him.

"… I hardly think I'd do so much for someone I didn't love."

She bites her lip as it quivers ever so subtly, and soon she finds herself crying once more. Still with a heavy heart and a broken voice, her fingers dig into the material of his clothing like they are her life line.

"Thank you. I really needed that."

Perhaps with that she can begin to feel a bit better.


End file.
